


Stronger

by unourssongeur



Category: Warrior (2011)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-13 20:21:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1239562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unourssongeur/pseuds/unourssongeur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Looking back on his life and his family, Brendan can't help but wonder what exactly makes someone a strong person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stronger

**Author's Note:**

> First and foremost, I owe a huge thank you to Sibilantly for being the alpha, beta and general support system for this piece. I can honestly say that it would not be here without her.
> 
> Secondly, I hope you enjoy this. And I want to thank you for taking the time to read it.

In the gym at the school where I teach, there’s a bunch of motivational posters. Things meant to inspire the kids to push a little harder. I’m pretty sure that’s meant to be the teacher’s job, but I’ll save that argument for another day.

One of these posters has that old cliche about something not killing you making you stronger. And every damn time I see it, I have to resist the urge to roll my eyes. Because it’s kind of a load of bullshit. 

I know we’re supposed to be optimistic and shit like that. It’s good for the kids to see that in the adults they have to deal with. But I can’t even pretend to agree with that sentence. What doesn’t kill you does not necessarily make you stronger. Hell, most of the time it leaves you broken for a while and then tries again.

Take Pop. The booze hasn’t killed him. Not yet at least. But he isn’t stronger than he used to be. Not even remotely. Maybe I’m biased. Maybe the fact that he managed a thousand days shows some kind of strength I never heard of. But when I look at him, I see a broken man who didn’t just break, he lost the pieces. When Ma and Tommy left, he was so pissed off. He raged for days. Months. Hell, he might still be raging under all that calm sobriety. I don’t know. He never raged at me. Not like he did for them. I was the oldest son, but I was always second best. He didn’t care what I did. 

Maybe that isn’t fair. He cared about me, I guess. He tried to be in my life. He failed. But he tried and another one of those damn posters says that trying is what’s important. Another load of shit, but there you have it. When he put Tess in the hospital, I could have killed him. I considered it for a few nights. She pulled through, I let the idea go. I yelled at him for what felt like forever, though. If Ma could have seen me, she’d have given me such a disappointed look. She didn’t like the way Pop handled his anger, and that night, I handled mine as bad as he always had. But Pop, he looked at me with something so close to pride, I almost fucking laughed. I had to become as bad as he was for him to look at me like that. 

I shut up then. Didn’t yell anymore. Just told him to go. He wasn’t welcome in our home or in our lives. Not like he was then. Told him he was a disgrace and a drunk, and that if he ever wanted to hear his granddaughters’ voices, he’d better sober his ass up and find a way to become a better man. His shoulders slumped then, his eyes falling to the ground. I almost felt guilty. But I didn’t, I couldn’t let myself. He’d hurt the people I loved and I wasn’t going to let that go. His drunk ass cost me Ma and Tommy. He wasn’t going to cost me Tess too. 

Tess, she’s something else. She makes me believe all those damn inspirational posters. She’s every cliche about strength and wisdom all rolled into one. When the doctors gave us Rosie’s diagnosis, I was so angry at the world. That my little girl could have to go through something like that — un-fucking-believable. Unforgivable. Only problem was, I didn’t know who to blame. Tried blaming God. Didn’t get me anywhere. That son of a bitch doesn’t exactly care if you’re pissed off at him. I yelled at the doctors, lawyers, bankers. Anybody and everybody  
.  
Not Tess, though. She’d have kicked my ass if I’d tried. She made me see I wasn’t doing Rosie any good by screaming. She was just as scared as I was, but she never once raised her voice. She never doubted that, somehow, our little girl was going to live. I mean, yeah, she cried a lot. She’s human, even if to me she was something more. Tess is the type of person I want to be. She, Emily and Rosie are my reminders that sometimes, those damn cliches are true. Sometimes, what doesn’t kill you does make you stronger. 

There are nights, though, where I think maybe it’s just us Conlon men who aren’t meant to get stronger. We’re just meant to break. Pop, he takes two steps forward and somehow ends up right back where he started every time. Me, I got my problems. I’m pretty sure Tess gets fed up hearing me pace at night. I mean, yeah, the money helped a lot. Winning that fight, it squared us away. But, there are still nights where I feel worthless. I fucked up a lot in my life. I like to think I do right by my students and that helps balance me out. But, everyone has bad days. I’m no different. 

Sometimes, I think about the way Emily was afraid for two weeks after the fight. We tried to explain to her that I was alright. That I wasn’t going to ever have bruises like that again. But, she’s so young. I made the mistake of saying I did it so that she and Rosie could have a better life. Tess heard them arguing a couple days later. Em said something about them needing to be grateful for the toys they got, or else I was going to go get hurt again. What do you say to something like that? I mean, she’s a little girl. She doesn’t deserve that kind of guilt. Especially for something like this.

She’s let go of that fear, now, I think. I’ve gone long enough without any bruises that she doesn’t worry anymore. But when she gets presents now, I feel a twinge of guilt when she hugs me and says ‘thank you’. Like she feels like she has to be extra happy with what she gets or I’ll go back to fighting. 

On my bad nights, I try to hide out on the back porch once the girls are asleep, so Tess doesn’t have to see me upset. I’ve been letting people down since I was a teenager and sometimes, it feels like I’m letting them down too. I should have been better, or something. I should have found a way to make the money without scaring Em like that. Without having to go behind Tess’ back and win cage fights in parking lots. I should have found a way to make money that didn’t involve me beating the shit out of my baby brother. 

Tommy... Growing up, I never understood him. When it came to wrestling, he was unmatched. Strongest kid around. You wouldn’t know it from being around him, though. He was quiet. If he didn’t have to say anything, he didn’t. And he took care of everyone. You’d see him out on the mat and probably think he’d be this big bully. Maybe it’s because we had Pop, but we knew people like that weren’t worth shit. Before he and Ma left, I don’t remember Tommy getting into fights or arguments. I remember him being the one to help Ma on the bad nights, when the booze made Pop talk with his fists. Hell, he’d never admit it, but I remember him helping Pop to bed every time he was piss drunk. He’s got a good heart. 

Didn’t stop me from hating him after they left, though. Him and Ma both. They should have waited for me. It was that simple, in my head at least. Tess would ask about them, but I wouldn’t ever say anything. Just clench my jaw and get really quiet. It wasn’t even just her asking about them. She’d mention them in passing, say something about the way they used to be, and I’d shut down. 

It was almost a year before I really let go of that anger. That feeling of betrayal. A year of getting berated by Pop, of wondering where they were and if they were okay. A year of nights with Tess and days at school, and work in the middle, saving up to get the hell out of Pittsburgh. A year of working my ass off in school, trying to keep up the work that I’d been putting in, hoping for a scholarship. It was the longest year of my life. But somehow, I made it through and it paid off. I got a pretty good scholarship. Didn’t have to take out too much in loans. Which, considering what was going to go down later in my life, I’m really glad for. Small favors, I guess.

Anyway, Ma and Tommy. I finally forgave them once I was in college. The way I saw it, I had good things going on. I wouldn’t have if I had spent who knows how long on the run. Tess helped me finally see that. She told me to write them letters. I told her that was a bullshit idea. 

I wrote thirty of them working toward my Bachelor’s. Still have them somewhere. In a box. Under the trophy I got at Sparta. Most of them were to Tommy. I loved Ma, don’t get me wrong. But Tommy, he’s my baby brother. I always tried to look out for him. I think, more often than not, he looked out for me. But I tried. I really did. 

In the letters, I’d try to imagine what Tommy was up to. I wanted to believe he’d found a way to be happy. To be more than Pop’s chance at glory. I never imagined he’d go through what he did. I thought he’d escape the Conlon curse. But he got it worst of all. Tommy was the best of us, and he got the worst. When Pilar told the world what happened, what Tommy went through, I was angry all over again. Angry at Pop for driving Tommy away in the first place. Angry at Tommy for not coming home after Ma died. Angry at the war. Angry at myself. 

And I know it’s stupid, but that news clip— that was the first moment I really felt like maybe I was the one who needed to be apologizing. For staying behind. For leaving Tommy to go through life alone. The way Tommy walked in Atlantic City... for all his brawn, he looked so small. So closed off from everything. He walked like a man expecting a gunshot at any moment. I think that’s what Tommy looks like when he’s afraid. And when he’s in pain. I watched him train as a kid. Even when he was exhausted and Pop was running him into the ground, he never looked like he did at Sparta. 

And fuck, that fight. I’d rather face Koba again with my hands tied than have to go through that again. I love fighting. Not as much as Tommy or Pop. But there’s something about a good fight that gets the blood going. But I don’t think I’ve ever seen just how much pain I inflicted. I don’t know how Pop could do the things he did. Fighters, we’re trained to hide the pain, because it’s a liability. Normal people, people like Ma, they show their pain in their eyes, the way they stand. I saw that in Tommy. He was too broken to even put up a front anymore. And the longer the fight went on, the more I saw that it was my fault. Not just what I was doing then. I mean, yeah, I felt like shit. His shoulder, there’s no way that healed quickly. But, what if I had picked Tommy? What if, for once in his life, someone picked Tommy for Tommy? Not because they wanted him to carry out their failed dreams. Not because they needed him. Maybe he wouldn’t have gone into the Marines. He wouldn’t have gone through the bullshit with Manny. He wouldn’t have had to go by our Ma’s maiden name to hide from the MP. 

He wouldn’t have been sobbing and broken, pinned by the person who’d promised to protect him when they were kids, before Tommy decided he didn’t need protecting. That’s why I apologized. It’s what the Conlon men need to do. Apologize to each other. Because in the end, we break each other down more than anything else. 

Seeing him get locked up for desertion, it hurt. A lot. We talked while he was in. I wrote him letters and actually sent them, and got some back. When he finally got out, he looked less broken. Not just because his shoulder looked normal. I don’t know. He stood taller. I think his guard was up. I don’t think that’s going to change. But, he… I don’t know. It sounds stupid, but he looked like he was carrying less weight around with him. 

Then he moved out to LA. Got in touch with Frank and started building himself a career as a fighter. Things have been going good, from the sounds of it. He even met someone. An architect that is nothing like what I would have imagined Tommy going for. But, he makes him happy. And I think he does what Tess does for me. If I’m honest, I think it’s fucking weird that his name is Tom, too. But, I’m not the one dating him, so Tess says I should just shut up about it. I think Tommy might try to come back for a visit this year. I told him he could bring Tom if he wanted. Tess laughed and said that if I hadn’t told him that, she was going to, behind my back. Good to know she supports me, that wife of mine. 

Tommy’s life now is what I’d always hoped he’d have when I was writing those letters. Something he enjoyed doing, someone to come home to. I mean, I doubt it’s perfect. Life never is. Hell, look at me and Tess. We fight, we get pissed, but we always stick with each other. I need her and even though I don’t quite get it, she needs me. Maybe Tom and Tommy are like that too. Or maybe they will be. I don’t know. 

I do know that if I don’t go to bed soon, Tess is going to hit me. And the damn state tests tomorrow will be impossible to survive. That’s what I need strength for. Surviving the standardized tests. I’d rather fight Koba again, any damn day. Ah well. We’re playing with nitrous oxide in chemistry once they're done, so that’ll kill the monotony nicely.


End file.
